Blood and Ink
by Radred1621
Summary: At eleven years old Ginevra Weasley very nearly sold her soul to a seventeen year old that always knew what to say. The sinking feeling in her gut told her that something was wrong, so she hid that leather book away. Temptation brought it back the same way that curiosity killed the cat. Five years later, sixteen year old Ginny knows better. She should know better.
1. ONE

ONE:

It had been a long time since Ginny had written in the little leather bound book. She couldn't remember where she had gotten it from. It had appeared in her book pile in first year. A muck up with the salesman, probably.

She was alone in her dorm, sitting on her bed, her trunk half unpacked next to her. The curtains were drawn, but sun shone through them, filling the space with a soft red glow.

The book was open to an open page, and for half a second Ginny wondered if the boy inside could see her. It was a foolish thought, but she had been eleven years old when she had first written in the diary.

A lot had changed in five years. She had matured, both physically and ,mentally. Her childhood crush on Harry Potter had disappeared, pushed somewhere to the back of her mind for her to feel embarrassed over when she tried to fall asleep. No longer was her mind occupied with unrealistic dreams of being a dragon tamer or headmistress of Hogwarts.

Anxiously, the redhead held the quill over the page. Would he know I haven't written to him?

She would write to him every now and then, but not nearly as regularly as she had all those years ago.

 _Hello_ , _Tom_.

She watched the ink sink into the page.

Nothing.

It was probably unhealthy to form an attachment to a soul stuck in a diary. But with her friends barely talking to her, and a general disregard for introducing herself to new people, the boy within the diary was someone familiar.

It's been a while.

The words appeared on the page slowly, maybe they were supposed to be sarcastic.

She could reply with a myriad of excuses, that she had been busy with school, lost the book, or whatever else she could come up with. He wouldn't believe her. For a seventeen year old trapped in a book, Tom was too smart.

 _I'm sorry…_

She didn't bother explaining herself. She had turned to him because she was lonely when she was eleven. Five years later and her motivations were no different. Only this time she had real people she could talk to. Harry or Hermione, Luna and Neville. But they had all been so distant lately. Harry was madly in love with Cho, Hermione and Ron were always speaking in whispers, shutting up whenever she walked past. Luna and Neville were nice, but there was only so much confusing rambling and stuttering Ginny could handle.

And so she had turned back to her old friend in the pages.

It's been lonely without you, Ginevra.

His handwriting was the same, perfect looping letters that shouldn't belong to a seventeen year old.

She didn't know how to reply. Guilt inched its way into her stomach. Could he even feel the passing of time. What were five years when you could see nothing but black. How would you tell the difference between seconds and hours? Years and minutes?

 _I haven't had much to tell you…_

She scribbled the words quickly, wanting to move past the awkwardness.

 _I'm still sorry Tom._

Swirls appeared on the page, idle doodling that Tom was prone to when he was thinking. In her mind she imagined him sitting at a desk, gliding the quill over the page as he chewed his lip in thought.

I'll forgive you someday. Tell me what I've missed.

So she filled him in. On everything. The distance that was slowly building between her and her friends. Her classes and teachers. She couldn't remember the last time she had written to him, so she filled him in with the mundane events of her breaks, and boy drama.

No more Harry Potter?

She could feel the teasing through the page.

Not anymore. He's not as great as I thought he was. Child infatuation, or something like that.

I've missed you, Ginny.

She ate her breakfast slowly, keeping her attention focused solely on her toast. The muted humming of conversation filled her ears, but Ginny paid no attention to it. The Great Hall was always bustling with excitement on the first day of classes.

Hogwarts had always been a magical place. Even at sixteen, Ginny hadn't lost that childish wonder as she looked around, still in awe of the ceiling covered in puffy, white clouds. If she closed her eyes she could feel the sun on her face, tinting her face pink.

She had Charms first, her best class, though it was mainly because Flitwick liked her and she was used to throwing hexes at her brothers. It was a simple enough class, but it required too much attention and Flitwick didn't tolerate any distractions. They'd be no time to write.

There it was. She was thinking about him again.

How did she manage to vacate him from her mind for so long? How did she push the memories of pouring her heart out to a boy she'd never seen. She barely knew anything about him, other than he was the recipient of a nasty curse that trapped him inside a book.

Part of her wondered if Tom only showed interest in her because there was no one else. She assumed that anyone would be welcome when you hadn't spoken to anyone for more than fifty years.

The book was tucked into her bag, hidden under a pile of parchment and textbooks. If the Hall hadn't been so crowded she'd pull it out and start writing, start listing off her concerns for the upcoming year only to be soothed by Tom's instance that she was the brightest witch he knew.

At eleven years old, being called clever and talented by a seventeen year old was enough to send her to cloud nine. Of course he had been flattering her, probably to make sure that she would come back. At eleven years old she was blind. At fifteen she was hesitant.

She knew she was good at magic. She didn't need Tom to tell her that, her test results and professors assured her that she had potential to do whatever she wanted if she put her mind to it.

But talking to Tom was different. He was knowledgeable about things she had no clue about. He was patient, mostly, and quick witted, and willing to help her with homework.

So was Hermione and Harry and Luna.

So why did she feel so drawn to the diary again?

At eleven years old she suffered from nightmares. A cold, damp room that stank of blood and made her stomach tie itself into knots. In her dreams tiny snakes would slide over her skin, biting into her flesh and sucking the blood out of her body.

When Mrs Norris appeared on the wall completely frozen, even little naive Ginny knew it was a bad omen.

She hadn't blamed Tom, not entirely. She blamed the book, the dark magic that swirled around it. So she had hid the book in the depths of her room, refusing to bring it up to anyone in case they thought she was insane.

Knowing Tom, he wouldn't respond if someone else demanded him to.

A hand waved in her face, snapping her away from her thoughts.

"You alright in there Ginny?" It was Carla, one of her roomates.

The girl was one of those people that had always been pretty. Darkly tanned skin, dark almond shaped eyes framed with thick eyelashes, and a head of black hair in tight curls that framed her face.

"Yeah. I'm just tired."

Dumbledore decided then to start his usual start of year speech, saving Ginny from adding anything else to the conversation.

As per usual, he droned on about how this year was for excellence, and that the Forbidden Forest was strictly out of bounds.

It was only when he moved onto introducing the new Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher that things became interesting.

"Professor Dolores Umbridge."

A loud hem hem masked the sounds of snickering and gasping.

A middle aged woman strode to the podium with deliberate steps. The first word that came to Ginny's mind was toad. The second was atrocious.

Her face was round, her eyes deep in her face and beady. Her hair was the colour of mud, probably curled with rollers.

Worst of all was her choice of clothing. She wore a dark pink pencil skirt with a tweed blouse tucked into it. The outfit was topped off with a fuzzy pink cardigan that not even Ginny's Aunt Marjorie wouldn't be caught wearing.

"Merlin's Beard," she muttered, not entirely believing what she was seeing.

"Where in the everloving hell did she come from?" Carla whispered, just as shocked as she was.

The dreadfully pink woman launched into a speech that was obviously pre prepared.

Oh great, a ministry approved teacher.

Once her ramblings were completed, polite applause filled the room. It was going to be a long year, Ginny decided as she stood to walk to her first class.

It wasn't going to become a habit. Or at least that's what she was telling herself.

The diary sat on her lap. The quill already in her fingers, but no words on the page. She wondered again just how sentient he was. Could he see her deliberating over her words? Could he see her hesitation? Could he tell that she was afraid she'd start sleepwalking and dreaming about strangling roosters to death?

There were some secrets that a girl couldn't even share with her diary. Especially when they had a habit of talking back.

Far too much thinking was going into this. The idea of it was so ludicrous that giggles rose up in her throat. No one was supposed to put this much thought into their diary entries.

 _We have a new defence teacher. She's vile. Everyone says the position is cursed. They never last longer than a year._

Her first defence teacher mysteriously lost all his memories, Lupin turned out to be a werewolf and left, and Mad Eye Moody wasn't Moody at all. By the end of the year something was going to happen to Umbridge.

Tell me about her.

She filled Tom in, describing in detail her pink outfit and her multiple jobs within the ministry.

 _She's a walking pompom Tom_.

The Ministry should know better than to interfere with Hogwarts. None of them know what they're doing.

Part of her wanted to remind him that her father worked in the Ministry, but another reminded her that he was a Slytherin, and would probably think that the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts was the most useless job of all.

She stared at the words, the perfect looping letters. She had a vague idea of what he looked like. She'd seen him in her dreams before, long faced and dark haired.

 _I'll talk to you tomorrow, Tom, she wrote. I've already gotten homework_.

Until tomorrow, Ginevra.

The classroom was stuffy, despite the autumn weather. Through the window Ginny could see a mostly clear sky, dotted with only a few clouds. The humidity reflected how she felt. Something between apprehension and dread floated in her stomach. She'd overheard Harry and Ron talking about Umbridge, how she made them stow their wands away and forbade any sort of practice.

The woman in question floated into the room. Instead of her usual pink attire, the witch was clad in a lavender skirt and a darker purple blouse. This was covered with her usual fuzzy cardigan of course.

Just the sight of her was enough to make Ginny feel sick. She was far too bright, a buzzing fluorescent light in a dark room.

"Wands away! We won't be needing them today." The woman waved her own wand, causing the piece of chalk to lift into the air and start writing on the blackboard.

Introduction of Defence Against the Dark Arts for Fourth Years.

Umbridge moved to the centre of the room, the stick of chalk hovering above her.

"From this point onward," her voice was sugary sweet, cherry flavoured rat poison. "We will be following a Ministry approved, structured, curriculum."

The students reached into their bags to pull out parchment and quills, already understanding that there was going to be nothing practical about the lesson.

Ginny wrote the date in the corner of her page, wishing that she was writing to Tom instead.

"Defensive charms and counter-jinxes will be mentioned, however we will not be exploring them in great detail."

A hand a couple of rows in front of Ginny rose into the air. Umbridge motioned for the girl to speak.

"Don't we need to practice the charms?"

The witch giggled, a noise that Ginny was determined to never hear again.

"Why would you need to use these spells. There are no dark wizards anymore. You are all safe here."

No one in the room spoke, but Ginny was sure that they were all thinking about the untimely death of Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter's claims that You Know Who was back,

The weather was too nice to be cooped up in her dorm, so Ginny made her way outside, wearing a frayed blue shirt that had once belonged to Percy and her favourite pair of jeans. Tucked into her waistband was the diary, the leather cool against the skin of her stomach.

She found a mostly private spot, near the Forbidden Forest, but far enough away to not be deemed a violation of one of the many rules dictating where they could and couldn't go.

She sat cross legged on the grass, balancing the diary on her knee.

She's more awful that I thought .

She had grown to like the company of Tom more than her friends. Carla was nice, but her topics of conversation were usually vain or vapid. The 'getting to know you' stage of friendship was always awful. Ginny didn't care where people went on their family holidays, or why she should start reading Witches Weekly.

Tom already knew who she was and she already knew what information about himself he was willing to share. The awkwardness had already disappeared, and she was only slightly worried about the amount of comfort she felt when she wrote to Tom. If she focused really hard she was sure that she could feel the aura that the dark magic created around the little book,

She described her DADA lesson, mentioning Umbridge's refusal to actually teach themselves anything that would defend them against any dark magic.

I'd teach you if I could. I always enjoyed defense against the dark arts.

She couldn't help but smile at the page. Of course he'd offer to teach her, and she would've accepted his offer if he wasn't stuck in a diary. She wondered briefly what kind of spells he would teach her; simple at first probably, but then complex magic. Even at eleven years old he had assured her she was a capable witch.

She asked what he had learnt in his fourth year, what Hogwarts was like in his time. He described the Slytherin common room in great detail, explaining that living n the dungeon was a lot more pleasant than it sounded.

It was always cool in summer, and it was always easy to sneak into the kitchens.

She tried to imagine Tom at school, his tie skewed and his hair messy. She knew that he had been an excellent student, practically a prodigy in potions. Ginny was sure that Tom was the only student who could genuinely impress Snape.

Her daydreaming was interrupted when a shockingly blonde figure stood in front of her, hands on his hips; lips sneering.

"The She-Weasel isn't surrounded by buffoons." Malfoy, was of course, armed with Crabbe and Goyle. Their ugly faces were tinged with amusement, but Ginny was sure that they would find anything Malfoy said to be amusing.

"Ah, but the Ferret is," Ginny shot back, looking up through her eyelashes to see his reaction. While he was distracted by offense, Ginny shut the diary and moved to tuck it into the waistband of her jeans.

The action was not unnoticed by Malfoy. He reached over her and pried the book from her fingers.

The colour left Ginny's face and all her muscles went slack, her mouth drifting open and her eyes widening.

"What are you doing anyway?" He sneered, opening the book. "Writing love letters to the Boy Wonder?"

What happened next, was something Ginny never would've thought could happen.

The diary erupted in dark green flames, spitting and hissing, causing dark smoke to come flying up.

Malfoy screamed, dropping the book as quickly as he had picked it up. Angry, red blisters appeared on his hands, and popped as quick as they appeared, spewing yellow pus into his face.

Ginny sat, open mouthed, staring at the diary, ignoring the frantic reaction of Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy.

Malfoy clutched his hands to his chest, staring at Ginny with accusatory eyes.

"You'll pay for this," he hissed before turning away to run back to the castle.

Ginny had nothing to say, she was too busy focusing on the diary, a few feet away from where she was sitting, in perfect condition, no signs of burning at all.

She rushed to the book, frantically grabbing her quill and scribbling her message.

" _Tom_!" She said his name aloud, barely able to write it down.

A strange thought popped into her mind. The diary knew that it wasn't her that picked it up.

 _Can you see me Tom?_

She could practically hear him laughing through the pages, the sound clear and cold.

Only when you need me to, Ginevra.

The concept didn't scare her as much as it should have.

So this is my first attempt at fanfic, I hope you enjoyed. Just some notes on the story for those who are interested:

Some alterations in canon. Ginny is a year older, the diary was never destroyed, and probably some other things that I can't remember. Takes place during OOTP.

I'm sure there are some plot holes I've made, but I'm not entirely concerned about them.

IMPORTANT: the relationship between Tom and Ginny isn't healthy. I am in no way attempting to romantisice or paint toxic relationships in a positive light. If anyone is interested, I will include content warnings at the start of chapters if necessary.

Happy reading


	2. TWO

Almost three weeks past uneventfully after the Malfoy incident. He had, of course, attempted to complain about it and label Ginny as an insane pyromaniac.

Only the Slytherins believed him, and with absolutely no marks on his hands to prove anything, the incident died down quickly and the gossipers moved onto their next topic.

Ginny had asked Tom about it, but he remained elusive.

Am I not allowed to be chivalrous? 

If I had a body I'd teach you... 

Spending forever inside of a diary leaves you very bored. You teach yourself some tricks eventually. 

His responses never gave away any detail, but left her smiling anyway.

It was a cold afternoon, the sky grey and filled with clouds that threatened to drop all the rain they were holding.

Despite this, Ginny wanted to be outside. The fresh air was alluring, not to mention the increased privacy and higher chances that she could write to Tom without being interrupted.

Much to his dismay, Ginny had been neglecting her homework. She had a dharma essay due in two days and had barely started.

It could wait for another day, she decided as she found a spot to sit, away from the elements and the prying eyes of other students.

She had grown accustomed to the smell of ink and parchment. So used to it in fact that sometimes at night when she couldn't sleep she wondered why no one had bothered to try and capture the scent and turn it into a perfume.

The smell reminded her of the potions class she just had. As insufferable as Snape was, Ginny had to admit that potions was an interesting class. Something about tossing various disturbing ingredients into a boiling cauldron fascinated her.

 _Can I ask you a question?_

She couldn't remember when, but he had mentioned that he had been good at potions. Or maybe he hadn't and Ginny just assumed that he had. Tom was annoyingly good at everything. A typical Slytherin.

You just did. Why aren't you doing your charms homework? 

She expected the response before he even wrote it.

 _Very funny Tom._

She didn't bother waiting for him to reply.

 _When you were at school did you brew Amortentia?_

Do I want to know why you're asking this? 

_We were talking about it today in potions. What did it smell like to you?_

Though Snape hadn't brought a sample it she imagined she'd smell freshly written pages and broomsticks.

I can't remember what it smelt like in all honesty. Wood fires and new books. Something like that I assume. 

The sky opened, sending hundreds of tiny droplets down to the ground. The smell of rain surrounded Ginny, and the chill started travelling up her arms.

Back in her dorm room, Ginny pulled off her rain soaked jacket, tossing it into the washing basket. She shook her hair in a feeble attempt to dry it before pulling it into a ponytail.

"Ginny?"

She turned to the voice. It was Cynthia, one of her dorm mates. She was a short girl, shorter than even Ginny, and had straight hair the colour of straw.

"Yeah?" She pulled off her shoes, leaving them near the door before moving over to her bed.

"We're gonna sneak out tonight. Wanna have some fun?"

Cynthia usually did things like this and Ginny was only invited sometimes, but the other girl's smile was warm.

"Yeah, sure. Let me know when we're leaving."

Getting out would be good for her. She couldn't have people start suspecting things again, unless someone found the diary and started asking questions. It was bad enough that Malfoy had seen it.

Plus it would be good to have fun with a friend she could actually see and interact with. Tom was intelligent and even funny at times, but she couldn't speak to him face to face. They couldn't go to Hogsmeade together and get butterbears or throw snowballs at each other.

She enjoyed his company, but it just wasn't the same as actually _being_ with someone. If she searched through her imagination, she was sure she could find a version of herself that could manage to lift the curse and they could be proper friends.

Her rational brain however, knew that dark magic shouldn't be messed with, and she already doing too much just by writing in it.

Later that night, Ginny sat on the edge of her bed, brushing her hair into a respectable style. She clipped the front parts away from her face leaving the rest to fall down her back. She dressed simply, wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a light green sweater.

Cynthia had apparently decided to dress up, wearing a bold red lipstick, a long sleeved white shirt with sheer sleeves, and tight black jeans. Ginny didn't even bother feeling underdressed. She was going out, and that was effort enough.

A small group had gathered in a classroom, ten people at most. Most of them were Ravenclaws that Ginny recognised but didn't know the name of, a Hufflepuff, and to her surprise, a lone Slytherin.

"Ah, she has noticed the snake in the room," he said, looking at Ginny with what she could only describe as an icy confidence.

"Don't worry about Ginny, she's cool," Cynthia replied, shooting the other Gryffindor that clearly meant _behave yourself._

The two girls took their seats in top of one of the desks.

"Just don't tell Ron, he might just have a heart attack."

Cynthia introduced the group, pointing to each of the people with a sweeping hand.

The conversations moved quickly, jumping from mundane topics like teachers and petty gossip, to straight out teasing and mocking.

"There's no way Hufflepuff is winning against Slytherin," Emma, one of the Ravenclaws announced. "When was the last time Hufflepuff won a match anyway?"

"It's because none of your chasers know what they're doing," Ginny replied, adjusting herself on the desk. They'd been in the classroom for a while, an hour at least. She half expected for a Prefect to come storming in, taking housepoints and sending them all off to bed.

"Now you've got her going." Cynthia rolled her eyes, knowing full well that once Ginny started going on about Quidditch there was no stopping her.

After several minutes of arguing about Quidditch (and Cynthia complaining that Quidditch was more boring than Binn's lectures) attention turned to Ginny.

"Is it true you set Malfoy on fire?" The questiin came from Cato, one of his perfectly angled eyebrows raised in curiosity.

Ginny picked at her cuticles. Of course if she told them what had actually happened they'd all laugh at her, or worse, storm straight to Dumbledore to declare her insane.

"Why would I set Malfoy on fire?" Dodging the question was better than coming up with a response.

"Because he's a stuck up prat?"

"Oh yes and I'd risk expulsion just to piss off _Malfoy."_

Then why was he going around telling everyone you've learnt how to use Dark Magic and used him as a test dummy?"

Ginny's mouth fell open just the slightest bit. That wasn't a rumour she had heard. Yes, she knew that Malfoy had been strolling around claiming she'd attempted to set him on fire, but she didn't know anything about Dark Magic. The last thing she wanted was everyone thinking she was involved in the Dark Arts.

"Sorry, I didn't know it would offend you."

His apology sounded sincere, but his words meant nothing to Ginny. Her blood was already boiling inside her veins, blurring her vision, and making her heart pump so loudly she could hear the noise ringing in her ears.

"Oh sure, accusing me of being involved in the Dark Arts isn't offensive at all!" She wanted to say more, but her words just came out as unintelligible noises, and instead of embarrassing herself with her attempts at English, Ginny stormed out of the classroom and headed straight to her dorm, her fingers shaking with anger and anxiety.

The following morning was awkward to say the least. Ginny tried to get ready quickly, throwing her hair into a bun and pulling her uniform on while Cynthia was still in the shower.

She was not successful however.

Cynthia cornered her in the dorm, her hair wet and dripping and her shirt still untucked.

"I'm sorry about last night Ginny."

She didn't want to think about last night, she just wanted to get to her first class and pretend like the past 12 hours hadn't happened.

"It's fine, it's not your fault." Her voice was curt, and the other girl seemed to take the hint. A frown appeared on her face for half a second and by the time Ginny had blinked it was gone.

"I'll see you at breakfast then?" She didn't sound hopeful.

Ginny walked down the stairs quickly. This was the earliest she'd left her dorm in a very long while. It was only 8:00, she had a whole hour before classes started. She would eat breakfast in fifteen. Ginny glanced outside through a nearby window, the sky was still grey, but it only looked a little miserable. She could run outside for a while, speak to Tom, and get to breakfast without worrying anyone. An added bonus was that she wouldn't have to deal with Cynthia apologising or trying to figure just why she had been so offended. The diary was already tucked away in her bag, she didn't even need to run back to her dorm.

The cold air on her face was a welcome feeling. As was the quiet. Owls could be heard if she strained her ears, but apart from that the world was silent. Ginny took her seat in an alcove and got to writing. Tom beat her to an introduction.

I didn't hear from you last night. 

_I went out._ She watched the scribbles appear in the corner of the page as Tom thought of a response.

Perfect record Ginevra sneaking out past curfew, how very interesting. 

Oh how things had changed since she was eleven. She contemplated telling him of her shenanigans. To be fair, she had only gotten detention a couple of times, but that was only because she was a master at avoiding getting caught. Even at home she broke rules, stealing her brother's brooms to teach herself how to fly in the middle of the night.

 _My record isn't that pristine, Tom._

What were sneaking out for anyway? 

She recounted her night to him, how it had started pleasant, and how she even thought she was making new friends. But of course everything had to turn sour.

 _I don't want people thinking I'm involved in the Dark Arts, Tom, especially with everything that's going on._ Mrs Norris getting petrified was bad enough, and then it came to light that Moody was actually a deatheater in disguise. Bad things were happening at Hogwarts, especially surrounding Harry Potter. The last thing she wanted was for people to think that she was involved somehow, or even worse, for things to start happening to her. The sleepwalking and nightmares had been bad enough.

Why do you care about what people think of you? 

She started at the question for a long time, holding her quill limply in her hand. Her immediate response was that she didn't care, but obviously she did if it was bothering her this much. The words seemed to get larger on the page, like Tom was raising her voice. She realised she had no idea what his voice sounded like. She'd seen him in her dreams before, something that he confirmed himself, but she had never actually heard him speak.

 _I just don't like it._ She wrote back eventually, disappointed in the gap of her thinking. Ginny wrote a goodbye, saying she needed to head off to breakfast before someone started getting suspicious. The diary felt unusually heavy when she walked towards the Great Hall.

* * *

The Great Hall was full of people by the time Ginny arrived. She squeezed into a seat next to Luna and started piling toast onto her plate. The buzz of conversation happened around her, and she made no attempts to decipher it. For once Ginny was just content to fit into the crowd, to be unnoticed and to just simply exist.

Of course it wouldn't last long. She had gone under the radar for just too long.

"There you are!" It was Cynthia of course, moving over towards her, red faced and out of breath.

Ginny sank down in her seat in her futile attempt to not be seen. Oh how she wished she was anyone else but herself in that moment.

Cynthia approached, bringing with her the attention of a small section of the table. Better that than the whole hall at least.

"Thought you disappeared," the other girl said, placing her hands on Ginny's shoulders and slumping over her dramatically. "You left so early I thought you would've been here."

The situation proved to not be as bad as Ginny expected. Cynthia apologised again, and Ginny assured her that it was fine, that she wasn't going to let the prodding of a scrawny Slytherin boy affect her. The two of them walked to their first class together. The air between them was only slightly awkward, nothing like it had been early that morning. Of course any attempts at turning the day around would be shattered the second Umbridge entered the classroom. She tried not to think about it.

"I promise Cato's actually really nice," Cynthia said, glancing sideways at the redhead. "He just has no concept about anyone else's feelings. He didn't mean to upset you, I promise. He feels really bad."

Ginny was only half listening to her rambling. Any previous embarrassment of her tantrum the previous night had vanished, now she was just concerned with getting through the day, reaching the weekend, and closing herself off in her bed to write to Tom. The tiny voice in the back of her head couldn't be ignored however. _I hope he feels bad..._ Normally her internal dialogue didn't enjoy other people feeling bad, especially when she was involved. The satisfaction was present though, and begged to be addressed.

The time for that would have to wait, though, because Umbridge strutted up, clad in a horrendously bright outfit and a sour expression. _Today's lesson is going to be absolutely wonderful._

Ginny's prediction was correct. Umbridge's voice was especially shrill, and her fingers were especially pointy. If someone so much as breathed too loudly she would shout and subtract points. Ginny slumped in her desk and feigned attention at the lecture about 'defensive mechanisms'.

"Of course if you _do_ find yourself in a confrontation with a dark wizard or witch, it is absolutely vital for you to leave the situation quickly, and report everything to the Ministry."

Ginny tried to hold in her snort. Of course it was _absolutely vital_ to run away from a dark wizard or witch, but if you didn't have anything to defend yourself, you'd be leaving in a body bag.

Umbridge's beady eyes fixed on Ginny, her eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed.

"Do tell me what you find so _entertaining_ about this Miss Weasley."

Ginny wasn't sure what took over her. An uncomfortable feeling bubbled in the base of her stomach, begging her to double over and lay her head on the desk. People had already turned their heads towards her, itching to see her get torn to shreds by the witch. Ginny met her gaze and immediately thought of some sort of poisonous frog. It would explain why she felt compelled to dress in such bright colours, she had to inform the other animals of the toxins that were flowing through her veins.

"Well?"

Ginny swallowed, her vision blurring slightly. She opened her mouth before she even had time to think.

"Well, Professor." Ginny's voice dripped with sarcasm, the two words already making the witch's face turn purple. "I was just wondering how we're supposed to escape the clutches of a dark witch or wizard when you've taught us nothing about _defense."_ She'd already started, why stop there. "I mean it's right in the name of the class? Don't you think it's pretty useless to just spew theory at us?"

Ginny had never seen someone look so angry, even her mother's face when Fred set fire to her garden didn't compare to this. It was comical almost, all she was missing was steam coming out of her ears. Fear or remorse were nowhere to be found.

" _How dare you!"_ Her voice was high enough to shatter glass; Ginny thought back to the mandrakes they had to look after in her first year.

Umbridge was squealing other words at her, ones she should probably be listening to, but she just couldn't find the energy to care. It was as though a dark cloud was hanging over her head, muffling the noise of anything outside.

"I'll be seeing you in detention for the next week Weasley. 20 points from Gryffindor for your behaviour."

She didn't bother going to her other classes, instead she pushed past her fellow students and stepped into her dorm's bathroom. She pulled off her uniform, tossing them on the floor and stepped into the shower, making the water just hot enough to make her skin tingle.

* * *

Thank you to everyone who's read this story, I appreciate your time, and thank you to the lovely people who took the time to write a review, it really means a lot to me.

Happy reading

-Red


	3. THREE

She wasn't sure how long she spent in the shower. Too long she guessed. By the time she turned the water off, the small bathroom was filled with steam and her skin was tinted red. The hot water still hadn't managed to soothe her anger.

She stepped out of the shower, roughly towel dried her hair, not caring that it was going to be a frizzy mess the next day. She pulled on her favourite pyjamas, light blue pants and last year's Christmas sweater. The pillow was soft under her head, and the closed curtains made it feel as though she was the only person in the castle. The dorm was silent, her breathing was quiet, and her racing heart had slowed to a normal rate. Finally, the tension in her chest eased.

Of course she'd have to deal with the repercussions of skipping almost a whole day of classes and her outburst in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Detention with Umbridge was going to be a cruel and unusual form of torture, but she _did_ deserve it. She deserved it just as much as Umbridge deserved to be yelled at.

Ginny couldn't stay still for long. A short five minutes passed before the buzzing started in her head again. She rummaged through her book bag, looking for the little leather book. Only she didn't feel it. She bolted upright, tipping the contents of her bag over her bed. Still no diary.

"Oh no, no, no," she muttered the words like a mantra, feeling the colour fall out of her face. Frantically, she tossed textbooks and scrolls of parchment onto the floor, her blood freezing colder every time she moved. Frustrated tears stung in her eyes as she jumped out of the bed, shaking the blankets in a vain hope that it had gotten stuck in the covers. There was no telltale thump to indicate its presence. A disdained noise escaped her lips, something halfway between a scream and a sob. Head in her hands, Ginny sat on the edge of her bed, her heart hammering against her ribcage. _How could I lose it?_ She tried to think of where it could've fallen out. Outside maybe? No, she had seen it when she had gotten her parchment out in DADA.

She must've dropped it in her hurry to get back to the dorm. That was likely, she had been moving quickly, it's possible that she swung her bag around too much and it slipped out. Ginny jumped up again, prepared to run out of the dorm as fast as she could. She got to the door, stopping only because of the flash of colour she saw out of the corner of her eye.

The diary was on her bedside table, a quill sitting perfectly straight next to it.

Her mouth fell open. Compared to the mess in front of the piece of furniture, the neatness was mocking, as though Tom was laughing behind his hand at Ginny's failure to notice him.

She hadn't left it there. She was absolutely sure of it. It had stayed in her bag when she entered the dorm, and she hadn't taken it into the bathroom with her. The only possible way it had gotten out of her bag is if someone moved it, which was impossible because everyone was in class, and no one even knew that she had the diary. That left an even more chilling possibility. The diary had moved itself there. The concept was insane, but then again there was a disembodied soul inhabiting it. One that teased her and made her laugh. Was it really crazy for it to levitate out of her bag and land on the bedside table?

Of course it was. Everything surrounded the diary was insane. She should never have fished it out of her old books. She should never have written back to it when the ink sunk into the pages. She should've turned it in to someone. She should have returned it to the bookstore, insisting that there was some mistake and there was no way that the diary should be in her possession.

She shouldn't be walking towards it.

Ginny moved on instinct, not entirely aware of her actions. She picked up her scattered books and quills and placed them back into her bag. She picked up her blankets, shaking the dust off them before making her bed. Finally she grabbed the diary, clutching it to her chest, feeling the world spin around her and trying vainly to ignore the waves of relief that washed over her.

"I thought I'd lost you, Tom." The words were so quiet, she wasn't sure if she actually said them aloud. She could've sworn that there was a buzz in her head that sounded suspiciously like a hiss, but she didn't acknowledge it. The whole morning had felt like a messed up dream, like she was listening to everything happen with her head underwater.

Fingers still clutching the diary to her chest, Ginny fell back onto the bed, her hair splaying out around her like a flame. In half a second her eyes were closed and she was unconscious

* * *

Ginny hadn't dreamt about Tom since she was eleven. She remembered it vividly, better than any other dream her subconscious managed to conjure. So when she opened her eyes to a stone ceiling and breathed in the smell of dampness, she was hit with a haunting sense of familiarity.

Her breaths came in as sharp intakes, the oxygen barely reaching her lungs. Logically, she knew that she will still asleep in her dorm, her body hanging strangely half on and half off the bed. But she felt so _present._ She was barefoot, still dressed in her pyjamas. The stone was cold under feet, but she couldn't feel the chill anywhere else. The ceiling was leaking, tiny droplets of water fell in front of her, commanding her to stand still.

"Where am I?" She wasn't sure who she was calling out to. She knew this was the place where she would see Tom where she was younger, but normally he was hovering over her, waiting for her to wake up. The place felt oddly empty without him. "Tom? Are you there?"

She stepped forward again, ignoring the signals in her brain telling her to stop. Her attention was captured by a large statue of a bearded man, his mouth agape and his eyes wide and staring. If she squinted, the tendrils of hair looked enough like serpents to make her skin crawl. Ignoring the butterflies in her stomach, she turned around.

"Tom, where am I?"

Something icy brushed against her back, making her spin around.

In front of her was a mostly translucent figure, one that she recognised instantly. The long oval face, the narrow eyes, the smirking expression, and wavy black hair. He was dressed in his Hogwarts uniform, a crisp white shirt, green and silver striped tie, and topped off with a tiny pin that indicated he was a Prefect. Ginny blinked at him, sure that he was going to be gone when she opened her eyes again. He wasn't entirely there. That was the only way to describe it. He resembled a ghost, the colours of his uniform dulled, his outline blurry around the edges.

He moved his mouth like he was speaking, but no words came out. The only noise that left his lips was a soft hiss, like the blowing of wind. His face screwed up, his eyebrows knitting together and his lips turning down in a frown. Upon realising that he couldn't speak, his expression turned back to neutral, and he reached out an arm, moving to touch Ginny's shoulder.

Only his hand went straight through her, sending goosebumps up her arm and chilling her skin. She tried to think back to the last time she had seen him in a dream. Had he been corporal then? Nothing came to mind.

Tom pulled his wand out of his pocket, causing letters to appear in front of him. His handwriting was the same as it was in the diary, and Ginny found herself wondering if this was how he replied to her. Did he even have his wand inside the book? Could he even use magic in there? _No, of course not. He would've tried getting out._

 _DON'T HAVE ENOUGH STRENGTH_

Ginny read the words, slightly admiring the perfectly curved scarlet letters.

Tom looked at her expectantly, raising one of his dark eyebrows raised the tiniest bit.

"How do I give you more strength?" The question came out slowly, hesitantly. She couldn't remember him asking her to help him gain strength before, but then again he had been in the diary for a shorter time then? Had he been losing life all this time?

 _YOU WON'T LIKE IT..._

She chewed the inside of her cheek as her mind raced with possible answers to her question. How was she supposed to give a soul strength? Her mind instantly went to the worst possible solution. She liked Tom, but there was only so much she was willing to do for him. Her attention drifted to the floor as her mind willed her to wake up. She inhaled sharply, squeezing her eyes shut. _You're a G_ _ryffindor, Ginny. Act like it._

She met his gaze again, finally exhaling. "What is it Tom? Just tell me." She didn't sound convincing, but it was better than saying nothing at all.

His face broke out into a smile and his entire face softened. He flicked his wrist, a thin red stream coming out of the tip of his wand.

 _I NEED BLOOD GINNY._

Her breath hitched in her throat. Blood. He wanted her to give up some of her blood. In another situation she'd think the answer was ridiculous. How was her blood supposed to strengthen a soul trapped in a diary, but the situation was in was already ridiculous. Of course he needed blood for strength. Dark Magic had trapped him, and it was probably draining his life force too. He was fading, and he'd disappear eventually.

Ginny's stomach flipped, her organs twisting in unnatural and painful ways. Her fingers shook at her sides as she considered the options. Blood magic was something she knew next to nothing about. What little she did know was about how powerful it was. Rumours dictating that blood magic combined with sacrifice was enough to save someone from the killing curse. Of course her blood would be enough to give Tom more life.

But at what cost?

All magic had a side effect. Basic spells took barely anything from a person, but casting enough of them would be draining. Advanced spells could lead to exhaustion. Blood magic would have a side effect, but what kind?

The expression he was wearing gave her the eerie impression that he knew exactly what she was thinking. She spoke before he had the chance to write out a response.

"I'll think about it, Tom."

He smiled at her once more, and the room faded into nothingness.

* * *

Ginny jerked awake, her neck and back aching from the strange position she had fallen asleep on. Her heart beat erratically, her forehead covered in sweat, her breathing irregular. She glanced at the clock, she had only been asleep for an hour. It was only 11am. If she really wanted to, she could sneak to the library, find some books on blood magic, claim it was for charms or curiosity, and try to figure out how terrible the idea would be.

She breathed in deeply, trying to clear her head of the tormenting buzzing. She stood up, stretching her arms above her head, and twisting left first and then right, trying to ease the aching in her muscles. The situation had gotten worse, just as she thought it would, which was completely expected. One of the first lessons they teach you as a magical child is not to mess with the Dark Arts. Ginny had broken that rule more times than she cared to count, and now she was considering digging deeper.

The sound of footsteps approaching made her breath catch. Part of her worried that it was Mcgonagall and she childishly had the impulse to hide under her bed to avoid the consequences that were going to catch up to her.

Relief spread through her body when she realised it was only Carla. The other Gryffindor stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips in a pose that reminded Ginny of Hermione around Harry and Ron. The red head smiled crookedly, trying to act as though she hadn't broken half of the Hogwarts rules in a matter of hours.

"Bloody hell, Ginny. Don't disappear like that, especially when everyone's going on about You-Know-Who being back, and all." Carla's expression softened, the concern falling off her face.

Ginny couldn't her mind off the dairy, completely out in the open. In her mind, it might as well be flashing bright lights that read out 'look at me.' The book itself was nothing suspicious, if anyone asked she could just say it was her diary or planner. No one would ask anymore questions. But why did she feel so paranoid? It took almost all of her willpower not to turn around just to check if it was still there.

"Why you'd leave anyway? Umbridge is terrible, but she's not worth getting screamed at by Mcgonagall for missing all your classes."

Carla had a point. Ginny could admit she had overreacted, but the immediate satisfaction was worth the repercussions. At least that was what she was going to tell herself. Her flight or fight reflex had gone completely out of whack since the school year started. She wouldn't have ran away last year. She would've spurted exactly what was on her mind and moved on as if nothing had happened.

The silence became awkward just as Ginny remembered Carla had asked her something. Her face was so inviting, and she'd always been nice to her. Telling her about her change in demenour wasn't going to be a bad thing. Shutting herself off was only going to make things worse.

 _I sound like my mother..._

"I haven't been feeling too great," Ginny confessed, avoiding eye contact. "i don't know how to explain it."

Carla smiled sympathetically, moving across the room to pull Ginny into a hug. The embrace was welcome and warm, and Ginny found herself leaning into it. She'd never been good at being alone, why was she trying to force herself into it.

"It's okay, Ginny. A lot's happened, it'd be more weird if you weren't affected." She let go, sitting on the edge of Ginny's bed. She took the cue, sitting beside her roommate.

"So you believe it then?" She hadn't spoken to anyone about You-Know-Who's return, expect for over the holidays where she would constantly overhear conversations between Harry, Ron, and Herminone. It wasn't exactly something you just brought up in the middle of lunch. Arguments were already occurring between the older Gryiffindors, Harry right in the middle of course.

"About You-Know-Who?" Her voice trailed off, and Ginny watched her face twist in thought. "I'm not sure honestly." She looked down at her hands. "I mean, I don't want to believe it, but it just sounds likely, you know?"

Ginny nodded. She hadn't even made up her own mind on everything. She believed Harry of course, he had no reason to lie, and if anyone would know, it would be him. But why now? Where did he go? What happened to him? There were just so many questions that were left unanswered. No one could come back from the dead. But no one was supposed to survive the killing curse either. She sighed.

"It's so messed up," Ginny whispered. "How could someone be that _evil?"_ She understood that there wasn't really such things as _good_ and _bad._ Everything was on a scale made out of blurry grey spots. But how could someone who senselessly murdered have anything good left in them?

Carla shivered. "Ugh, let's stop talking about this, it's giving me the creeps."

"Okay."

Speaking about the Dark Arts and wizards had long since lost its creepy factor for Ginny. The diary and being friends with Harry Potter has made sure of that.

Thank you to everyone's that read, followed, and favourited this story, it means the world!

Not sure how often I'll be uploading as my end of year exams are getting closer :'(. Won't be leaving this story any time soon though, so even if uploads are slow they won't be stopping.

A big thank you to everyone who left reviews!

(Also out of curiousity if I made an Instagram for updates and original work would anyone be interested in following it?)


	4. FOUR

Apologies for my absence, exam season was rather brutal.

Happy reading!

\- Red

* * *

The consequences of her actions caught up to Ginny by mid afternoon.

She sat in McGonagall's office not for the first time, but probably for the most serious.

The room was oddly welcoming, cozy with a large fireplace and a window overlooking the Quidditch field.

Ginny felt far from relaxed however. Feigning innocence would not only be stupid but pathetic. There was no talking her way out of it, Ginny was smart enough to realise that, and so she sat in her chair, hands folded neatly on the table in front of her, and trying to make eye contact with her Head of House.

"Miss Weasley I expected better." McGonagall was terrifying when angry, harsh enough to make even grown wizards flinch. Disappointment was something else.

Ginny was prepared for anger. Prepared to hear the speech about how she expected this sort of behaviour from Fred and George.

She hasn't planned for disappointment, and as such was rewarded with the sinking feeling of guilt in her gut.

She could apologise, say that she wouldn't do it again, but she'd be lying. It was only her fourth year after all, and the track records of other Weasleys weren't in her favour.

For once Ginny was glad she didn't get a chance to speak.

"Skipping one class is bad enough, but the whole day? I don't even want to touch on your behaviour towards Professor Umbridge."

At the mention of the Ministry woman, McGonagall's tone soured, elevating Ginny's mood a little.

"I meant what I said. About Umbridge," Ginny confessed, hoping that her Head of House would understand. "She's not _teaching_ us anything! It's ridiculous, especially now!" Her voice rose against her will and her hands left the desk to curl into fists at her sides. "You-Know-Who is back! How can she be refusing to teach us anything?"

McGonagall's face twisted and she reached up to pinch her nose. The internal conflict occurring inside her mind was so loud Ginny could practically hear it.

"Umbridge's teaching methods are out of my control. Professor Dumbledore does what he thinks is best for the school, and we all trust his decisions."

Judging by her tone of voice, Ginny assumed she'd either had this conversation before, or was trying to convince herself.

The aura in the room quickly turned solemn.

"I understand that last year was a shock to all of us, Ginny, but you mustn't worry about your safety. The teachers here are committed to keeping you all safe. Security has been tightened since last year and we are taking many precautions to ensure that it stays this way."

The witch's words comforted Ginny a little. Hogwarts was supposedly the safest place in the Wizarding World, or at least it had been since Harry Potter arrived. If anything posed a threat to her, it was within the castle. The red head nodded.

"If you need someone to talk to Miss Weasley, I'll be happy to make the arrangements myself." Her face was filled with compassion, her hard exterior shattered. No longer was she the woman dealing out Ginny's punishment for being rebellious, but a concerned teacher.

"I'll be okay, I think. I'll come to you if I have any problems."

Mcgonagall nodded. "I won't add anymore punishments to your schedule, detention with Professor Umbridge is punishment enough." The look on the witch's face communicated to Ginny that her words were to stay between them.

Smiling for what felt like the first time in ages, Ginny left the office.

* * *

Monday rolled around too quickly, and with it came Ginny's week of detention. Her classes that day passed quickly, as though the universe was punishing her as well.

She knocked politely on the door of Umbridge's office to be met with a sickeningly sweet voice inviting her in.

The sight was not what Ginny expected. The walls were covered in pale pink wallpaper, decorated with numerous framed photos of cats, most of them running around or playing with balls of yarn. The torture cave Ginny had imagined was better than the sight she was met with.

Umbridge sat behind her desk, wearing a plain lavender shirt, considerably less shocking than her normal attire.

 _The room is enough,_ Ginny thought. She took her seat without prompting, something that she expected to cause her more trouble, instead the witch smiled, the sight of it sending chills down Ginny's spine. She reached into one of her drawers and produced several sheets of parchment as well as a quill.

The writing instrument was like nothing Ginny had seen before, she picked it up, turning it around in her fingers curiously. The feather was long and black, heavily pointed at the top. The nib is what piqued Ginny's interest. It was a ghastly looking thing, sharp and slightly hooked.

Of course Umbridge would keep freaky looking quills.

"You'll be writing lines, Miss Weasley." Her beady eyes fixated on the red head, her lips curling into a smile that was far from pleasant. " _I must not question my superiors."_

Ginny fought the urge to roll her eyes. _Superior._ The only thing Umbridge was superior to was an army of swamp creatures.

"How many times?" She expected an obscene number, 300 maybe 400. Instead she was met with another smile.

"I think you'll know when to stop."

Ginny shrugged, and put the quill to the parchment, writing out the first letter.

She understood the sudden smiles instantly.

The sting on the back of her hand was sharp, grabbing her attention instantly. Ginny stared at her skin, completely dumbfounded, mouth open like an idiot. A tiny letter "i" was etched into her skin, tiny droplets of blood oozing out. Her eyes flickered from her hand to the quill, but she refused to give Umbridge the satisfaction of her shock.

 _This has to be illegal. Surely this is against some sort of law?_

Ginny swallowed, the Gryffindor traits inside her refusing to let the witch win. She was stronger than she looked, and her determination to prove the maniac wrong was enough motivation to continue writing.

The pain dulled into an ache, her skin slowly going numb, and her head dizzy as she stared at her blood on the parchment. Umbridge paced, the clicking of her heels only adding to the torment.

"You know you've done wrong."

Ginny wanted to stab her with the pointed end of the quill; to shove in into her throat just so she wouldn't be able to speak in the sickeningly sweet voice of hers. She was enjoying it; Ginny could see her grin in her mind.

 _How did Dumbledore find this woman?_ She wondered if Dumbledore was even the one to hire her at all. The Ministry was known for interfering in matters that they didn't belong in, and considering the events that occurred last year, the Ministry was probably on high alert.

Time passed slowly, agonizingly so. The pain returned again as exhaustion finally took its hold on Ginny. Umbridge seemed to pick up on it, and coughed in a way she probably thought was polite.

"I think that's enough for today, Ms Weasley." She moved back to her desk, searching in her drawer for something. "Your hand please? We don't want you bleeding on the floors do we?"

Ginny obeyed, the fire that had originally been burning in her stomach dulled; extinguished by both the mental exhaustion and discomfort. The witch wrapped her hand in gauze, effectively covering up any evidence of what took place inside her office. Ginny already understood that if she told anyone, she would be the one facing the consequences.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

Ginny left the office, eyes burning with tears she didn't understand the reason for.

She elbowed her way down the staircase, head held low in a vain attempt to hide her watery eyes. Some of the portraits noticed her sour mood and called out to her, only making things worse. By the time she reached the first floor her face was as red as her hair.

She didn't exactly have a destination in mind, but rather a list of places she didn't want to be. The common room, too crowded. The Quidditch pitch, currently occupied by Slytherins. She could find her secluded patch of grass, but it looked like it was going to rain soon.

An alcove it was going to be. She could tuck herself away and pretend that she was doing homework or something equally as boring.

Her plans were far from boring however. After she found an alcove and made herself comfortable, she reached into her bag and pulled out the diary.

She hadn't been writing as frequently as she used to. Partly it was because she didn't want to face him after the dream, but it was also because she hadn't made up her mind.

Blood magic. After her detention, blood was the last thing she wanted to think about.

She wrote hastily, her letters uneven and barely legible.

 _You won't believe this Tom._

His reply came but Ginny didn't read it.

 _She had some sort of blood quill. It's a torture device. I don't even think it's legal, you'd think someone from the Ministry would know better. It's absolutely ridiculous._

The tears fell onto the page just as she realised she was crying. She let them sit there, soaking into the paper the same way the ink did, half wondering if he could tell the difference.

You're crying.

So he could tell the difference. That or he could see her. Both options didn't seem so bad in the moment. Tom was the only one she could talk to about this. If she so much as mentioned it to anyone else she was sure Umbridge would find a new way to punish her. Her father worked in the Ministry. She couldn't risk it.

 _She's evil Tom._

Ginny angrily rubbed at her eyes, crying now with frustration. _She wants me to get upset. I'm just letting her win._

A new sense of recklessness filled her system, fuelled by anger and sheer curiosity. She'd bled enough today, a few more drops weren't going to make a difference.

Ginny pushed the nib of the quill into her index finger, wincing at the pain that came when the skin broke. The blood pooled for a second, and before she could give herself time to think about it further, she or sees the wound into the open pages of the diary.

The blood was a pleasant surprise, though the sudden sensation of it entering his world bordered on traumatic.

He's spent so long feeling _nothing._ No air in his lungs, no feeling against his skin, not even the coldness of air.

So when those red droplets fell from the sky like some twisted form of rain, Tom didn't know if he should rejoice or scream at the sudden intake of feeling.

Ginny hadn't even warned him of her decision, but he figured that was typical. Ginevra had grown rather unpredictable in the past years. No longer was she the doe eyed child she had been at the age of eleven. When she first made connection he wanted a body, something the eleven year old could offer him. But now she had so much more to give. There was a fire in her that he no longer had the desire of extinguishing. Her mind was at the perfect age of shaping. She was old enough to understand what he was saying, but young enough to believe whatever nonsense he decided to spew at her.

There was a number of downsides, as there always were, but they could be worked around. She was a Gryfindor for one, and with that came a special kind of recklessness that quickly turned into stupidity. She also had the bleeding heart of a woman that was sympathetic to mudbloods and muggles and bloodtraitors. Tom was smart enough to know that he couldn't shift her opinions, and he wasn't stupid enough to try and keep her away from his plans, whatever they may be.

Time was all Tom had, yet he hadn't decided what he wanted to do yet. The beauty of only having time was that there was always more of it. He'd get out of the diary and decide where to go from there.

The blood was a big step forward, even if it was such a tiny amount. He'd need more for the connection to be formed properly but it was a start. He knew better now, he wouldn't ask for more lest he scare her away again. No he needed to be slow, painfully so. Patience was always one of his best attributes.

So he'd do what he had done for as long as he had been stuck in the book: wait.

 _I have to go to class Tom. I'll speak to you this afternoon._

The words appeared in front of him, messy lettering in navy blue.

He pulled his wand out of his robes and wrote his reply.

Until next time. 

He felt the diary shut, felt the sudden loss of light in his chest, and his world returned to nothingness. At least it would be for a moment.

The connection was flimsy, barely formed and weak, but it was _there._ After so many years of nothing, Tom's longing for _something_ was greater than his longing for a body. The connection was the only way he was going to get it, so now that the chance was there, he allowed himself to be reckless.

It had been a long time since he had manipulated the connections. The last time Ginny had been eleven, and the connection was still shaky. Tom figured it would get better with practice, but the child had apparently noticed his attempted possession and ever since she had been hesitant.

Or she had been.

She was still cautious, but she was trusting. Tom knew that the connection was weak, and that attempting to get inside her head was useless, he'd be inside for half a minute and then get knocked back, but if the connection was weak maybe she wouldn't notice the intrusion.

He would just be testing the waters, he wouldn't push too far or else all progress would be lost.

Tom closed his eyes, focusing on his magical energy, manifesting it into a physical form; a glowing orb in front of him in a brilliant shade of emerald. He then pictured Ginny's face, what snippets of it he had managed to see, bright brown eyes, a smiling freckled face, and long red hair.

The connection buzzed in his head like a noise he couldn't locate. It was faint, barely a tickle or an itch, but it was there. He pushed his energy and pulled on Ginny's, throwing himself into her head with a feeling he still didn't know how to describe.

* * *

So the plot thickens. Big thank you to everyone who read and left a review, you can expect updates more frequently now. Hope you enjoyed, Red


	5. FIVE

Hello readers, I still don't have an upload schedule, but happy reading!

* * *

The pain in the back of her head was sudden but only lasted for a couple of seconds. It was enough to make her hiss loudly in the middle of Charms and for her fingers to go searching for the apparent injury. Several heads turned to look at her, but Ginny ignored them, scowling at the ones that decided to look for too long.

 _Strange,_ she thought, putting it off to stress and blood loss and not giving it much thought. She tried to fix her attention of Flitwick's lecture, watching the small man bounce up and down as he droned on about the importance of proper wand movements. The task however, proved to be far too demanding, and Ginny found herself leaning into her hand and staring at nothing in particular.

Her next class was Potions, which was guaranteed to be awful. It didn't matter how well she brewed or generally how good she was at the subject, in Snape's eyes the combination of being a Gryffindor, a Weasley, and a red head meant that everything she did was unacceptable.

Oh how she wished he had become the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, at least then she'd only have to put up with him for another year. The position was cursed, everyone knew it. Some put it down to superstition and some say even You Know Who originally wanted the job and when denied he made sure no one would keep it for longer than a year. Ginny wasn't sure what to believe, and frankly she didn't care. The important thing was it meant Umbridge was leaving next year.

Was it even possible to hate someone as much as she hated the pink clad witch? Sure she hated Malfoy and people that walked slowly and chewed with their mouths open, but the sheer about of anger that filled her system whenever she saw that stupid toad face was a little unnerving.

The day moved quickly and uneventfully. Ginny moved from class to class, speaking to Cynthia and Carly when she could, and the strange pain in her head didn't return.

By the time dinner rolled around it had left her mind completely. She sat between Cynthia and an older boy she didn't know the name of. The hall was bustling with noise as usual. The ceiling was a gloomy grey colour, dark rain clouds looming over their heads. Every so often the room would be filled with the gentle rumble of thunder and sometimes it was hard to tell if it was coming from the ceiling or from outside.

Ginny piled mashed potatoes onto her plate, eating quickly and nodding along to the outlandish story Cynthia was whispering into her ear. Her attention was elsewhere however; specifically several seats down from her.

Being the sister of one of Harry Potter's friends meant that she learnt than whenever the trio was huddled together hurriedly whispering frantically to each other it meant that something serious was probably happening.

It was Ron who noticed her staring, and promptly elbowed Harry before shooting her a glare sticking his tongue out and acting as though nothing had happened. Ginny rolled her eyes, deciding she didn't want to be involved in whatever the three of them were plotting.

She had started taking the diary with her everywhere again, just as she had when she was eleven. The book was tucked into the waistband of her pants and covered by the material of her shirt. Part of it was because she was growing increasingly paranoid that someone would find it, but a tiny part of her felt compelled to keep it close to her; to keep Tom close to her. She didn't know how to explain it, and she didn't care all that much to understand.

"Ginny are you listening?" Cynthia said, poking her in the cheek.

Ginny shook her hand away. "Yeah, sorry got lost in thought."

The other girl rolled her eyes. "What happened to your hand?"

The sound in the Great Hall seemed to disappear completely as Ginny felt the unease settle in her stomach. As if on cue, Ginny felt the unpleasant tingling of someone staring. She turned to see Umbridge smiling at something one of the other professors had said.

She shook her head as though the anxious thoughts would fly out of her head.

"I had an incident with the staircase." The lie came easy, one of the perks of being part of a huge family.

Cynthia laughed, and when Ginny was satisfied that her friend was convinced, she turned her attention back to her dinner, her fingers brushing against her waistband just to make sure that the diary was still there.

* * *

It had to be somewhere around 2am when Ginny woke up that morning. Her limbs ached as though she had just been running around for hours. Her blankets were twisted around her legs and her forehead was slick with sweat, her hair stuck to her skin.

Her breathing was rapid, her chest rising and falling erratically, only tiny amounts of air entering her lungs.

She had woken up from a nightmare, that was the only way to explain the unreasonable terror that was rattling through her system, but for the life of her she couldn't remember anything.

Groaning, she pressed her hands into her eyes, willing herself to fall back asleep. She stayed like that for a while, how long exactly, she couldn't tell. Eventually her breathing evened out, and her trembling stopped.

Her room was cool thanks to the October air coming through the opened window. She wasn't sure who had left it open, but she didn't care. Her skin was flaming and when she held a hand against her forehead she was surprised to find it hot to the touch.

Ginny untangled herself from her blankets and stumbled to the bathroom in the dark, taking care not to step on any other the other girl's belongings that were strewn around the floor.

The tiles were a welcome coolness against her bare feet, and for a moment she was tempted to lay on top of them, just to cool her body down. She decided against it however, scared that someone would walk in and see her and she'd have to explain what was happening.

She turned the tap on, running her hands under the cold water before starting to wash her face.

Ginny was reminded of being eleven years old again, waking up in the middle of the night from nightmares she couldn't remember. Only now that she was older, she didn't wake up screaming. That was a blessing at least; she didn't feel like talking to anybody.

Once she felt less feverish, she stepped out the bathroom, pulling sweaty hair away from her face. She sat on her bed, wide awake and knowing that sleep was something that was far out of reach.

She closed the curtains around her bed, grabbed her wand from under her pillow and cast an almost silent _lumos_ and grabbed the diary.

For a second she wondered if Tom would be asleep, and then she found herself wondering if he _could_ sleep. He was just a soul trapped in a book; he didn't need to eat or drink, so why would he need to sleep. But then again, he was capable of feeling and apparently seeing sometimes. There was only one way to find out.

 _I can't sleep._ She wrote, watching the ink sink into the page.

His reply took longer than usual to appear, which made Ginny think that he was in fact asleep. Even his writing looked different, shakier and larger, as though his eyes were still blurry from sleep.

Why not? 

The question was in the centre of the page; staring at her, waiting for a response.

Ginny's ears tinged pink with a surprising embarrassment. She didn't want to admit she'd had a nightmare, but a small part of her knew that Tom could tell when she was lying.

 _I'm not sure._ She replied. She watched Tom scribble in the corner of the page, feeling like she was watching him think. The lines disappeared as suddenly as they appeared, and she wondered if she had actually seen them at all.

I used to like walking when I couldn't sleep. 

She considered the option. It was late enough that most of the teachers and prefects were asleep, so her chances of getting caught were slim. All she had to worry about was getting back to bed before her roommates woke up.

And so her mind was made up. She dressed for the day, wearing her winter uniform for the first time that year and taking care to subtly roll her skirt up past the 'recommended' knee high length. She pulled her hair away from her face, too tired to style it nicely and instead tying it in a simple ponytail behind her neck. She snuck back to the bathroom to brush her teeth and rub some perfume on her wrists.

She left her book-bag next to her bed, leaving only with her diary and a quill, both of which were tucked safely in the waistband of her skirt.

* * *

Tom knew that she had taken his advice of taking a walk when he felt the gentle shake of movement in his confined world.

The connection wasn't strong enough yet, he decided. That was a definite, and he realised it the second he tried to get inside her head when she was sleeping. If he couldn't get into her head when she was unconscious, there was no way he'd be able to do while conscious.

He needed more blood, but he was painfully aware of her hesitance. The last time she had given in was a moment of recklessness fuelled by a rush of overwhelming emotions.

She was trusting him more though, but slowly. Agonisingly slow. Tom had to admit that he was glad that the girl had grown out of the childish urge to trust everyone that spoke to her.

And so everything had become a waiting game again, but Tom had grown incredibly patient in his years trapped inside the book.

He could wait as long as he needed to, or at least he told himself that he could. In reality he knew that he would grow impatient, and that as more time passed, the chance of him shattering all of his hard work increased.

He was hit with a mix of emotions. Frustration at how slow everything was moving, but satisfaction at the fact that progress was being made. On top of all of that he felt strangely content. Partly because he wasn't alone in the diary anymore; though he was introverted and preferred the company of himself than anyone else, he was still human; and carried the human flaw that meant he could never be completely satisfied on his own. But more importantly, he felt content because everything was falling into place. It may have been slow progress but it was progress all the same and it meant he could move onto the next step of his plan when Ginevra allowed him to.

* * *

I don't like this chapter, but my beta reader liked it so I'll trust her opinion. I finally have most of the major plot points planned out, so I should be able to update quicker. Again a big thank you to everyone who left a review, you guys are my main motivation for writing this fic!

\- Red xx


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